Dial It Down!
by Victoria May
Summary: When the dust clears, where'd the blood come from? And what's a little pain between friends?


Dial It Down  
  
By: Victoria May  
  
The shots came out of nowhere. The cluster of uniforms and detectives scattered, throwing up a spray of dust and pebbles as they dove for cover. Jim could feel Sandburg pressed up along his back, as he huddled behind a dented green dumpster. He could hear the muttered "dial it down, dial it down" his partner was so fond of uttering at the most chaotic of times. He could also feel the minute tremors and smell the stench of the sweat drenching both of them.  
  
It wasn't long before silence descended once again and it seemed, just for a moment, that the world paused to take a breath. Then a shouted 'all-clear', and a jumble of voices rose from around them.  
  
"Damn. That was close man. Way too close." Sandburg was still clutching his shirt and he could hear the labored breathing behind him.   
  
"You okay Sandburg?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm good man. Just a little winded. That was way intense." The younger man paused and then released his grip on Jim's shirt. He patted the back lightly and said, "You okay Jim? Did you get everything dialed down?"  
  
"Locked down tight Sandburg. Don't worry." Jim pushed himself to his feet in time to see his boss jogging towards them, his suit coat flying out behind him.   
  
"You guys okay?" the large man asked, bending over to catch his breath once he'd reached them.  
  
"We're fine Simon," Jim answered.  
  
A sharp gasp came from behind the detective. "Jim!"  
  
The panic in his friend's voice made him turn and his stomach twisted sharply. Sandburg's hands were covered in blood and there was a large red stain on his jersey.  
  
"Shit Sandburg, why didn't you say you were hit?" Jim demanded, starting forward. But he only made it one step before his legs gave way and he thumped knees first to the blacktop.  
  
"It's not my blood man," Sandburg said, rushing to his side. "It's yours Jim. You must have dialed your touch dial down too far if you can't feel that."  
  
And with those magic words, fire erupted in his lower back and he bit back a strangled moan.  
  
"Oh God!"  
  
Strong hands were pressing into the fire and Jim clenched his teeth to hold back the words that were sure to earn him an official reprimand, if not worse, if they escaped.  
  
"You're going to be fine detective. Just a flesh wound. Sandburg, go see if you can flag down a medic."  
  
Jim panted as he listened to the light footsteps of his partner scamper away.  
  
"How are you doing Jim?" Simon's calm voice asked.  
  
"Can't find the dials," Jim huffed.  
  
"Dials, schmiles. Forget them. What you need to do is focus on something else. The bullet glanced along your back . . .."  
  
"Argh!"  
  
"So just focus on, erm, your right hand. Flex it, straighten it, flick your thumb a few times. No pain there, right? Feels good, doesn't it?"  
  
Jim nodded.  
  
"So just keep focusing on that, and how good it feels. Don't let you mind drift off."  
  
'Like to the burning agony in my back,' Jim thought as he moaned again.  
  
"Your hand, your hand!" Simon ordered. After a few seconds, the pain began to dissolve and Jim slumped back against his captain.  
  
"Thanks Simon."  
  
"Don't mention it," Simon muttered around the cigar he'd just clamped his teeth onto.  
  
"But . . ."  
  
"Really, I mean it. Don't mention it. Especially to the kid. I don't feel like playing twenty questions today." With that, the large man slapped his detective on the shoulder and surrendered his position to a waiting paramedic.  
  
As he was striding away, he called back, "It's only a scratch Jim, but take the day off. You've earned it."   
  
Jim rolled his eyes, which then settled on his vibrating partner who'd taken up position on the side opposite the medics.  
  
"So man, how'd you, you know--manage the pain?" the kid asked. His voice was quiet but the blue eyes gleamed with a mad quality.   
  
"What pain?" Jim said. "It's just a scratch Sandburg. Geez, did you think I was dying or something?"  
  
"No pain?" Blair asked, his voice just a tad too dejected.  
  
"No pain," Jim said.  
  
"Oh. That's . . . great. Really good Jim. I'm glad. No pain. So the dials?"  
  
"Not a problem. Fell back into place like a finely oiled piece of machinery."  
  
"Oh. So, I guess we can head on home then." Blair reached down to help his roommate to his feet.  
  
"Not so fast detective. You're going to need stitches back here, and a lot of 'em." The medic was putting his equipment back into his bag.   
  
"Stitches?" echoed in stereo and the paramedic took a step back.  
  
"Well, if everything's working so well, maybe I should just head on back to the loft and clean up. Maybe start supper." Blair said.  
  
"Um," Jim said, slowly climbing to his feet. "I could be waiting a long time. You know how emergency rooms are. Why don't you just come with me--you could keep me company, or something."  
  
Blair narrowed his eyes and studied his sentinel. "Or something."  
  
"U'huh."  
  
"Right. So, I'll just follow . . ."  
  
Jim frowned and scraped the ground with his toe.  
  
"So . . . I'll just ride with you guys and get a uniform to bring the truck to the hospital." Blair bounded away and Jim grinned at his faithful friend's back.   
  
Jim winced as his wound was probed again.   
  
"No pain, huh?" the paramedic clucked. Jim just grinned sheepishly. "I would have thought a crease that deep would hurt like a son of a bitch."  
  
"Sandburg!"  
  
Blair grinned as he heard his friend call for him. So all was right with the world. He'd been worried for a minute. He broke into a sprint, calling out as he went,  
  
"Dial it down man!"  
  
END 


End file.
